for us. The battle, sir, is not to the
strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides,
sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now
too late to retire from the contest.

There is no retreat, but in submission and slavery. Our chains are
forged. Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston. The war is
inevitable; and let it come!--I repeat it, sir, let it come. It is vain,
sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, peace! but there
is no peace. The war is actually begun.

The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the
clash of resounding arms. Our brethren are already in the field. Why
stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they
have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the
price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what
course others may take; but, as for me, give me liberty, or give me
death!

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 50: Before the Virginia Convention, March 25, 1775.]

II. MARION'S MEN[51]

We follow where the Swamp Fox guides,
His friends and merry men are we,
And when the troop of Tarleton rides,
We burrow in the cypress tree.

The turfy hummock is our bed,
Our home is in the red deer's den,
Our roof, the treetop overhead,
For we are wild and hunted men.

We fly by day and shun its light,
But, prompt to strike the sudden blow,
We mount and start with early night,
And through the forest track our foe.

And soon he hears our chargers leap,
The flashing saber blinds his eyes,
And, ere he drives away his sleep
And rushes from his camp, he dies.

Free bridle bit, good gallant steed,
That will not ask a kind caress,
To swim the Santee at our need,
When on his heels the foemen press,--

The true heart and the ready hand,
The spirit stubborn to be free,
The trusted bore, the smiting brand,--
And we are Marion's men, you see.

[Illustration: Marion's Men.]

Now light the fire and cook the meal,
The last perhaps that we shall taste;
I hear the Swamp Fox round us steal,
And that's a sign we move in haste.

He whistles to the scouts, and hark!
You hear his order calm and low,
Come, wave your torch across the dark,
And let us see the boys that go.

Now pile the brush and roll the log--
Hard pillow, but a soldie